Invisible Angels
by domina tempore
Summary: To people who shouldn't exist spend Christmas together. Set in the missing two years, tag to "Color Blind".


**Alias:** _Invisible Angels _

_Disclaimer: "Alias" and all of its characters, locations, etc. belong to their respective owners; I'm just borrowing. No copyright infringement intended! _

_Author's Note: "Color Blind" is arguably one of my favorite episodes of Alias. John Hannah's character was brilliant (one of my favorite guest characters), and it disappointed me that they never brought him back again, because it was left open story-wise that they could. I re-watched the episode recently, and I was reminded of how much I wanted to see him again and somehow, out of that came a Christmas story, sort of. I hope you like it! _

_Special thanks to __**sisangel **for __helping me decide on a title. Love you my dear!_

**ovovovo**

Sydney sat alone at the bar in a small tavern, not really interested in the drink before her as much as in studying her reflection in the liquid. The color turned her newly blonde hair dark, making her seem almost like Sydney Bristow again instead of Julia Thorne. But it wasn't enough. Sydney didn't spend her Christmases hiding out in bars wondering whether or not t buy another drink. Sydney would be at home right now, celebrating with her friends and Vaughn and maybe even her father. She wouldn't be alone.

She contemplated her drink with new interest when she thought of Vaughn, the bitter taste of alcohol better than the images in her head of him with that woman... his _wife_. She knew that she had no right to ask him to be loyal to a dead woman, but she _wanted_ him to be. The fact that he had moved on so quickly and easily cut her deep, and it was that which decided her. She downed her drink in one swallow.

It didn't help with the images in her head, but it struck up a fine buzzing noise in the back of her skull. She ordered another, wondering how many it would take to dull the pain of being alone tonight.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a man slide onto the empty stool beside her and speak to the bartender. "I'll take one of those, mate." His voice was familiar, hitting on some memory in her from a long time ago. _Another life_. It was completed when he placed a postcard down on the counter. A familiar tree spread its branches across a blue sky, brought her back to the mission. She turned to look at him, and found him already studying her carefully. "You are _not_ an easy woman to find, Sydney Bristow."

She chose to overlook his use of her real name. "I could say the same of you," she said, a vague grin making its way onto her lips. "Martin Shepherd. I thought you'd disappeared."

"And I heard that you'd died."

Sydney bit her lip. "As far as the world is concerned, I did."

"Ah, that's right," he nodded. "Put a bit of gold in your hair and you turn into Julia Thorne. Well, I'll give it to you, you're the most alive dead woman that I've ever seen." He laughed. "We make quite a pair, don't we? The two people who aren't supposed to exist."

"And yet here we are." Sydney laughed a little herself, and it felt good. She favored him with a genuine smile. "I'm glad that you found me," she said. "I should be used to it by now, but I really didn't want to spend tonight alone."

"Neither did I, which is why I was very glad to find you here, Ms. _Thorne_." He winked. "So, how did that all come about, then? I've heard the rumors, but I could hardly believe that someone had programmed _you_ the way that they did to me before you rescued me."

"No, they didn't program me," she shook her head, her eyes growing distant as she remembered the months that she had spent in the hands of the Covenant. But she pushed those thoughts away. She didn't want to remember the torture, the abuse she had gone through there. "They gave it one heck of a shot, but they didn't." She spread her hands. "In theory, I'm still me. And what about you? I haven't heard anything in a long time; you seem to have successfully fallen off the radar."

Shepherd nodded proudly. "Thanks to you, there were hardly even questions. I got away, changed my name, and started a new life. "Andrew Jonas" is an artist who rents a basement for a studio and lives quite happily and quietly."

"So that's where the postcards come from," she realized, picking up the one he'd left on the counter and studying it. It was the same one that he had sent to her, all those years ago; _Blue Skies Again._ She flipped it over to look at the message side; it was blank.

"Yes. This was just the first one. It's still my favorite, but I've done many more since Romania. Would you like to see?" He glanced around the tavern. "I mean, the booze here is all well and good for us nonexistent people, but I personally don't want to spend my Christmas hung-over in here. And there is a project that I think I'd like to work on tonight... What do you say? Would you like to see what Martin Shepherd has become now that he's no longer a murderer?"

Sydney hesitated. Shepherd was no Will, Francie, or Vaughn; but he'd been a good friend and he'd saved her life as much as she had saved his. She had wondered a lot about him over the years, how he was doing; and he seemed to excited to show her, someone who knew who he really was. And she did not want to spend this Christmas alone. Maybe Shepherd was the answer to her wish. Finally, she smiled at him and nodded. "I'd love to."

A broad grin spread over his face. "Come with me." They threw a few bills down on the bar to cover their drinks, gathered her coat from the rack by the door, and ducked out into the snowy night.

The streets were unusually empty that night; everyone was either visiting for Christmas or hosting, and the few people on the roads and sidewalks were only on their way to the next event. Nobody paid attention to the two figures tracking crooked paths through the snow, laughing into the cold, sharp air and looking at the stars. Just slightly tipsy from their drinks, they were two nonexistent people blending in with the world. In this town, on this night, they were invisible.

Shepherd's apartment was as he'd described it; two rooms in the basement of an old brick house on the edge of town. It was small and simple, but clean, and pieces of his artwork added life to the small space. The walls and several easels were crowded with images of trees and gardens and old stone bridges. There were bright summer sunsets and snow-covered hills. Each one was distinct, done in that whimsical, stylized form of his that had made his art so unique and memorable.

"Well, this is my home," he said to her, seeming suddenly embarrassed to be showing somebody his sanctuary. "It's not much, but you can have a look around if you'd like. It's better than my last accommodations, eh?"

Sydney smiled, remembering the little five by eight cells in the asylum. "A lot better," she agreed, taking a few steps inside to study a large, half-finished picture of a carousel in a park. "How long did it take you to do all of these?" she asked, her fingers hovering over the brightly colored piece.

Martin glanced up from a stack of pictures that he was looking through, and smiled. "I started that one this past summer," he said. "But the time it takes depends on the projects."

"Have you ever sold any of your art?" she asked, moving on to a winter scene of a rabbit in the woods.

"Aye, a few; but mostly I just do the prints, postcards and the like. Truth is I'm selfish; I can't bear to part with most of them. Look." He held out a small but familiar canvas to her, and Sydney studied the twisted tree against the yellow sky with a rush of nostalgia. Sure, the entire thing had been one near-death experience after another; but that had ultimately been one of her better missions. "I can't believe that you kept this," she breathed, running her fingers very gently along the edge of the picture. "How did you get it out of the asylum?"

"As I said, I couldn't part with it. And it was a good reminder of what happened to me, and what I have now to be thankful for. Of _who_ I have to thank for it." He looked up at her. "It's yours if you want it."

"Oh, I couldn't do that," she protested, trying to hand it back to him."

Shepherd insisted. "Take it, please," he begged. "I've found that when you cease to exist, it's good to have something of your life before; and I don't need it anymore. I know that you can't go back, but you shouldn't have to give yourself up completely. Think of it as a Christmas present, if you'd like."

Sydney bit back what she thought to be an irrational rush of emotion. "Thank you," she said softly, unable to refuse him.

He smiled with pride for his work. "You will hang it up when you get back to Rome or wherever "Julia" is living now?" he asked. "A little bit of Sydney in all of that Thorne?"

"Yes," Sydney laughed through her tears. She hugged him. "Thank you, Martin."

"You're more than welcome. I owe you my life. I know that I can't make up that debt, but I can offer you dinner?" He looked embarrassed. "I don't have much, but I'll gladly share."

She nodded. "I'd like that."

It was by no means a traditional Christmas dinner, but they made the best of it. Half of a smoked ham, some cheese, and a loaf of bread made thick sandwiches, and Shepherd opened a bottle of champagne he said he'd been "saving for a lonely night; but this is much better". Sydney contributed by turning the meager contents of his cupboards into a small pan of "apple crisp". Their combined efforts made an unconventional situation into something good. They ate and talked and drank, and when they were done eating Shepherd started work on a new project, a winter scene under a clear, starry night.

Full and warmed by the food and the champagne, Sydney allowed herself to relax. Tomorrow she would have to fall back into character and return to Italy to await her next assignment; but for tonight she was Sydney again and it was good. While Shepherd was still no Will, Francie, Vaughn, or Jack, he was her friend, and right now that was enough. Even if it was only for tonight, she felt like she was home; and she knew that this was where she needed to be.

Grinning about something that Shepherd was saying, she raised her glass in a quiet toast to him and his kindness, to finding friendships in unlikely places and to not being alone. "Merry Christmas," she whispered.

_fin._

**ovovovo**

_Merry Christmas! _


End file.
